BELSIZE PARK HOTEL
CENTRAL LONDON
17:28PM
'So, your place or mine, Scully?'
'How about mine, you stand a better chance of being able to sit down somewhere.'
Mulder started to protest then realized she was right. 'Yeah, okay. I'll be over a couple of minutes.'
She poured herself a glass of water then went to her closet to find something a little less restrictive than her suit. Opening the sliding doors, she sighed at her lack of foresight when packing. All she'd brought other than the same jeans and top she'd worn yesterday were some sweats for a jog in the mornings, and she couldn't wear them. Not unless she was prepared to put up with a barrage of abuse from Mulder. The move to background checks meant her long working hours had been drastically cut so she had no excuse not to try and expand her wardrobe from the racks of jackets and skirts. She resolved to do some shopping when she got home. She decided on the jeans again and had just finished changing when she heard a knock on her door. Mulder obviously had planned a little better than her. He was wearing new dark jeans and a grey t-shirt.
'Hi, come in,' she said. 'Room service menu is by the phone if you want to order dinner.'
He chose the bed by the door and fell back onto it, stretched and yawned. 'God, I'm so tired. Jetlag is killing me. And I just love these beds. I never thought anyone would ever get me off my couch, but I'm seriously considering one of those adjustable mattress things, you know.'
'Mulder, I've told you before that you shouldn't fall asleep listening to informercials. They're probably full of subliminals or something. You'll be telling me soon that ThumbWaiters are a good idea.'
'And they call me paranoid,' he muttered with an appreciative smile before reaching for the menu.
'Would madam like the salmon this evening? I do believe it was caught fresh from the highlands this morning.'
'I wouldn't like to explain fresh salmon ordered on room service to the expense department, Mulder,' she replied. 'Let's just stick to sandwiches and sodas - I'll have cheese salad and diet coke.'
'Wow, feeling adventurous tonight then, Scully. I guess it's cheese salad for me too,' he said.
While he placed their order, she sat down on the edge of his bed.
'It'll be here in twenty minutes.'
'Great. So are you going to speak to Kersh about this? Try to find out if there is something going on?'
'No, I don't think so. He'll probably send us two return tickets for our trouble. We didn't exactly part on good terms.'
She sighed and rolled her eyes. 'What did you do this time, Mulder?'
'Nothing,' he protested. 'He just pulled me into line a little before we left and I sort of told him where to go.'
She said nothing. Just stared at him.
'Alright, okay, maybe not in those exact words, but he understood the sentiment. Anyway, I was thinking of Skinner as our best bet.'
'And what if our calls are being monitored and Kersh finds out you've contacted him?'
'I'll just tell him I needed information on a previous case we worked on while under Skinner. He is still SAIC of the X-Files project.'
'Okay, I guess it's the best we can do. Just be careful.'
'My middle name,' he said wryly. He reached for the phone again. Skinner answered after two rings.
'Hi, sir, it's Agent Mulder. I'm calling from London about a case we're currently working on and we need your help.'
'Then call your superior, AD Kersh. I shouldn't even be talking to you. Goodbye.'
'No, sir, wait just a minute, please. I realize that, but this is very important,' he pleaded as Scully watched, her eyes becoming concerned. 'Two people are already dead and there will probably be more.'
Silence. At least there wasn't the tell-tale click of a receiver being replaced. Then came a sigh.
'Mulder, I'm sorry, but you've already done a good job of tearing your own career apart. I'd rather you didn't take mine down too.'
'Sir, please, you're the only one we can trust.'
More sighing. And silence.
'Alright, Agent Mulder. Make it fast.'
Mulder gave him a brief overview of the two cases they were working on, the fingerprints, the DNA, and the connection to Tooms.
'Sir, we need you to fax us the death certificate and autopsy reports on Tooms, and to pull his file to see if he did have a brother. That isn't going to be easy, you'll have to look back to the turn of the century; probably 1903 or earlier, mainly in Baltimore county, but possibly further afield. I doubt he'd have travelled far. He needs his victims quickly, and wouldn't bother travelling to get them. We also have no reason to believe he used an alias, he was always too sure of himself, too confident in his ability to elude capture. Maybe there will be a record of his original application for 66 Exeter Street somewhere.'
'Didn't you look for those records when you were assigned to the case?'
'Yes, sir, but without any luck. We were looking in the wrong era.'
Skinner may have been, to all official eyes, a by-the-book agent, but he'd worked too long with Mulder and Scully on the X-Files to question some of the more outrageous aspects to the reports he'd read, as long as he didn't have to go on record as believing in them. He knew through his own experience that there were forces working against the two agents and that their being removed from the X-Files was part of a much bigger plan. He did what he could to support them within the realms of his position, but he had to watch his own back too. That had been proven recently after his brush with an unnatural and very mysterious death. Nevertheless, he also knew that he was one of the few people Mulder still trusted, and he respected that. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he liked his two best agents and, like Scully, wouldn't put himself on the line for anyone else.
'I'll do my best, Mulder, but I can't promise anything.'
'That's all we're asking, sir. I understand it will be difficult.'
'I'm glad you appreciate that. I'll try and get the information to you later today. If not, tomorrow.'
'Sir, if it's possible, please don't involve Agent Spender. He could make things difficult for all of us, especially if he thinks we're investigating a possible X-File.'
'I am aware of the conflicts between yourself and Agent Spender, Mulder.'
'Of course. I'm sorry, sir.'
'Do you have a fax number there?'
Mulder gave Skinner the details he needed and then hung up. Their room service had arrived while he'd been on the phone and he hadn't even noticed. Scully had moved back to her own bed and was finishing off her soda.
'Did he agree to help?'
'Yep,' he said as Scully handed his tray to him. 'He's going to fax us whatever he can find later today, his time, so we should have the information we need by tomorrow at the latest.'
'Great. What else did he say?'
'Other than agreeing to help us, just to watch our backs.'
'I don't think there's much more they can do to us, Mulder,' she muttered bitterly. 'Do you expect much from him?'
'I don't know. I hope so.'
'We didn't have much luck when we looked.' She tossed her empty cup into the trash-can by the desk.
'Nice shot, Scully. Maybe not, but like I told him, we weren't looking in the right places. Look, I'm sure he'll turn something up.' He was determined not to be defeated. 'Meantime, I think we should spend some time in the archives tomorrow to see if any similar crime has occurred before. Tooms attacked every thirty years, so we should assume the same here.'
'Never assume, Mulder. Ass out of U and ME, remember?'
'You being smart with me?' He eyed her over his dinner. He wasn't smiling.
'Okay, it's a reasonable assumption. There is one thing though that goes against the killer being Tooms, assuming that he survived that accident.'
'And what's that?'
'He killed five people every thirty years. He's already killed his quota for this period, so why would he come to England and kill again?'
'He wouldn't because he's dead. I don't think it's Tooms.'
'You're suddenly very sure of yourself. You once told me that every fingerprint is unique, even twins have different prints if you look at enough points.'
'You're the one who mentioned the twin theory, Scully. For once, I'm following you.'
She shrugged. 'It's pretty unlikely. I still think maybe someone is yanking your chain. Everything seems just too convenient. Those prints could have been doctored, replaced, whole reports falsified.'
'All just to discredit us? I don't think international exercises are needed, they could set us up at home. Why go to the trouble?' He shook his head. 'No, I think your theory is pretty good. For once.'
'For once? Well, thank you.'
'No problem. Anyway, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.'
'Yeah, I guess so.'
Mulder finished his sandwiches and leaned back into the pillow, yawning and closing his eyes.
'Hey,' she said, slapping at his ankles, 'don't you fall asleep in here, Mulder. If you're tired, get back to your own room.'
His eyes opened. 'Is everything alright? You've been weird all day.' He was serious now. Concern shone in his eyes.
'Sure,' she replied. 'Why wouldn't it be?'
'Oh come on, Scully. You've been argumentative, edgy, downright rude to McTierney and that's not like you. You seem a little tense, I suppose.'
'Do I? I'm sorry… It's just… I've had a long day and I probably need some sleep,' she said a little too forcefully.
He looked upset, like he'd done something or said something to her that bothered her, but he didn't understand what.
'You sure? There's nothing on your mind?'
I want to go home. I want things to go back to the way they were.
I'm afraid…
That things are changing… That you are changing… That you want more, that you need more than this… That you'll push them beyond breaking point, and then they'll break you…
And then what the hell am I supposed to do?
'No. I'm fine. Just tired.'
'Alright,' he whispered, a mixture of confusion and hurt in his eyes as he rose from the bed and headed for the door. He turned back to her before leaving. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
She didn't trust herself to speak, so just nodded.
His eyes remained on her for a second longer, then he left.
She had never felt so alone.
Having showered and changed, but still not feeling any better about herself, Scully climbed into bed and turned on the TV. She switched from a nature documentary to the news, then to cable. Finding nothing interesting enough to take her mind off the events of the day, she turned it off and eventually fell asleep. She slept deeply, dreaming nothing, until being woken by a deep, hollow thumping.
She felt like she'd only just fallen asleep. It took her a while to realize where she was, then it came again, accompanied by an urgent whisper.
'Scully? Scully! Wake up!'
'Mulder?' she called sleepily, fumbling for the light.
'Yes, it's me, open the door.'
She pulled herself out of bed, unlatched the chain on the door and regarded him through heavy-lidded eyes. 'Do you have any idea what goddamned time it is?'
He looked her up and down in her bedraggled state, clad only in a thin night-shirt and smiled.
Suddenly she felt uncomfortable and grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed.
'Just gone 3:30 am. There's been another one. A transient. In the city.'
'What, another liver extraction?' She tied her gown and folded her arms across her chest against the cold. Obviously the hotel didn't bother heating the corridors at this time of the night.
'The police are on the scene. They're saying it only happened an hour or two ago. McTierney would like us there right now.' He was on a high again, all trace of his earlier fatigue gone. He'd even had time for a shower - his hair was damp, his skin was still red from the heat, and he smelled of sandalwood and musk.
Oh God…
'Yeah…yeah, okay,' she said, exhausted already, 'give me a minute.' She disappeared into the bathroom to change.
A few moments later she appeared in the suit she'd worn yesterday, her hair just brushed and damp around the hairline from where she'd splashed cold water onto her face. Despite her efforts, her skin was dull and her eyelids heavy. She hated this case more with each breath, and wished desperately for her own bed back home and a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. She thought she must have looked terrible, but was beyond really caring. She just hoped this would be worth it.
ALLEY OFF RAMILLES PLACE,
SOHO
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 21
4.17AM
The streets of London were alive, even at this unearthly hour. But then, it was still officially a Saturday night. Gangs of drunken youths could be heard in the distance and the occasional couple passing by was politely, but firmly, moved along by the police standing at the end of the alleyway. The orange light from the nearby streetlamps, the forensic lights, and the strobing blue lights from the patrol cars made the scene feel like a set from a sci-fi film as steam drifted up from air conditioning vents and extractor fans hummed overhead.
The as-yet unidentified victim lay partly concealed by garbage bags beneath the sprawling metalwork of the fire escape at the back of the Oriental Garden Cantonese Restaurant. Forensic officers crawled over the place like ants, and the coroner and police photographer were already busy with the victim. McTierney was speaking to a waiter from the restaurant. He must have found the body, Scully thought, judging by his extremely distressed state.
She left Mulder with McTierney while she approached the medical examiner.
'Hi, I'm Special Agent Scully with the FBI. What have you got here?' Her breath cooled and condensed in the cold night air.
The coroner barely looked up. 'You have no jurisdiction here. You on holiday or something?'
She steeled herself for a fight that she had no wish to pursue at this time of night. She pictured her bed again, soft and warm.
Alone.
'No, sir. We are involved with the case by request of Chief Superintendent Ford of Scotland Yard.'
He finally stopped scribbling notes onto his pad and raised his head. He was much younger than she'd first thought, probably in his mid thirties, with clear green eyes. Attractive in a bookish sort of way. 'I'm sorry, Agent Scully, was it?'
She nodded.
'Well, his liver is missing. Torn out with bare hands, by the look of it. There are some marks on the exposed lower diaphragm that might be significant, but I'll know more after the autopsy.'
'Any signs of a struggle?'
'None that I can see. Maybe he passed out drunk. He stinks of whisky.'
She crouched down and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Her fingers were uncooperative, freezing and numb.
'Do you have a penlight?'
'Sure,' he replied, taking one from his medical bag.
Twisting it to switch it on, she gently opened the man's eyelids. The pupils were fully dilated, a pretty good indication that he was either drunk or stoned when he died, but they were equal, so brain injury was unlikely. She continued to pass the light over his ashen face, cracked, parted lips and dark, dirty beard. It was difficult to assess age or injury under all that grime, thick multi-layered clothing and dark blue overcoat, now shredded from the chest down revealing a huge, ugly hole in his abdomen. Blood, dark and glistening in the artificial lights, soaked through his clothes and pooled beneath him.
'Will you be performing the autopsy, Doctor…'
'Isaacs. Yes, tomorrow.'
'Would you mind if I was there to observe? I am a qualified forensic pathologist.'
'I don't see a problem, provided you complete a little paperwork for us.'
'Sure. Have you ever seen anything like this before?'
'Yes, I worked on the other two murders. Lucky me.'
She smiled, despite herself. 'That's good. We're looking into a potential serial killer, so we need to establish if there is a link between this and the other two murders, which is why I'd like to attend tomorrow.'
'Sure, I understand. I'll probably start in the afternoon, let's say around 2.30?' he said as his van arrived to pick up the body.
'I'm not sure where your offices are, Doctor.'
He pulled his card from his pocket and gave it to her.
'Thank you.'
'Yeah,' he returned her smile. 'Inspector McTierney will probably be wanting to come too, so maybe she can drive you. I'll see you tomorrow then. Pleased to meet you, Agent Scully.' The gurney with its grim cargo clattered into the van followed by Doctor Isaacs. Curious passers-by moved aside for it as it trundled away, before returning to jostle with the police officers and blue incident tape.
'Is it the same?' asked McTierney, still managing to look great even though she'd probably been ripped from sleep too.
Scully pulled off her gloves and absently ran a hand through her hair.
'The injury is the same, but that's the only similarity at the moment. We'll have to wait for the autopsy reports. Doctor Isaacs has given permission for me to assist tomorrow. He says you'll want to go yourself, so maybe you can drive me. Around 2:30.'
'Sure, if you want. Listen, there's not much else you two can do here at the moment, so why don't you go get some sleep, have a lie in, and I'll see you at the station after lunch for that autopsy.' She was so sickeningly nice all the time, Scully was starting to feel guilty for disliking her as much as she did.
When McTierney had gone, they began the walk back to their car, pushing through the remaining people at the end of the alley. They had started to disperse now that the body had gone. They walked a while without talking, but it was an uncomfortable silence. Scully knew he had something he wanted to say.
'Can I ask you something?'
'Sure,' she muttered as loud groups of drunken kids pushed past them.
'What happened earlier?'
'What do you mean?'
'You seemed…I don't know. Upset, I guess. Was it me? Did I say or do something?'
She felt like a kid, her face hot even in the biting cold. 'No, Mulder. I'm just…I don't know. Homesick, I guess. Tired. Jetlagged. Wondering what the hell is going on here. It's making me…irritable, I guess. I'm sorry.'
'Why don't I believe you?'
She turned to him, met his eyes. 'Excuse me?'
Mulder stopped and stared at her. 'Okay. Fine. I guess I just thought we had a better relationship than that.'
'You're not my priest, Mulder. I don't need to confide or justify every single thought in my head to you.'
'Right. Okay… Well, forgive my intrusion then.'
He got into the car and they didn't speak again.
He hid in the shadows above them, silently watching the scene unfolding beneath him. He still shook with adrenaline, his back was soaked in sweat and his hands were sticky with blood. He could still taste his prize at the back of his throat, but this wasn't like the others. He couldn't wait for the drugs to work. The need had arisen from deep within his primitive genes, becoming overwhelming, all-consuming, the control in which he took such pride being lost to him. They had once warned him that to lose control was a sign of weakness, that if his will wasn't strong enough to fight the ravenous hunger for blood coursing through his soul then he would die. Like The Other had died. But The Other had been stupid. He wasn't stupid, and he would not allow his cravings to overtake him to that extent again. He had been sloppy, careless, and soon they would catch him.
Unless…
Wait.
No, it couldn't be.
It was.
Panic filled him, twisting in his stomach. Both of them?
My God.
No good saying that. God had no place for such an abomination in His world. He was forsaken, cast down. No God watched over him. He was the last of his kind; made of man, not God.
He couldn't remember their names.
Why can't I remember their names?
They were important, they alone had the power to stop him. They who knew what he truly was.
The woman was too weak to be of real concern to him, but the man - the man had stopped The Other taking what he had needed from…
Scully…
That was the woman's name, he thought triumphantly. He had trapped The Other in that machine, to suffer the torture of being pulled apart. For that he would suffer. What a fitting final prize before his slumber. Revenge would enable him to sleep soundly in the comforting, avenged embraces of those gone before.
Mulder.
Yes, he remembered now.
He continued to watch from his perch, high above the scene. Waiting.
Patience.
He must regain his control for Mulder. He wanted it to be slow, not like the last one to satisfy hunger. This one must be planned. Well. He would take him soon.
Take him and kill him.
Slowly.
Soon.
